Thanks For The Use of Your Couch
by pineapplefreak
Summary: Oneshot about how Tim Shepard ended up on Ponyboy's couch one morning. Genre says angst but it's very minor.


Tim Shepard was upset.

But that was nothing new. Lots of things made him upset: the Socs, the other gangs, the guys in his _own_ gang, and often- like right now- his family. Curly had gone and got himself arrested for stealing from a liquor store, the damn kid, and now he was in the reformatory. Angela, his sister, was off God knows where hitting it off with another one of the Brumly boys. One of these days she was going to get a little more than she bargained for if she wasn't careful. His dad was drunk again, but not drunk enough that he just sort of lay around in a stupor; the violent kind of drunk that caused him to throw every foul word he knew at Tim along with quite a few busted bottles. Tim just wasn't in the mood to deal with that kind of shit right now, so he had left the house to find somewhere else to sleep.

For a brief moment he thought how nice it would be to have a brother that wasn't well on his way to prison, a sister who didn't put herself out there in every way, a father who didn't scream profanity at him every chance he got. But then he pushed the thought away.

He was Tim Shepard. He didn't need things like that.

But now he was out alone in the cold, dark night with nowhere to go. He wasn't worried about getting jumped- hell, he welcomed a fight right now. But everybody but Winston knew better than to mess with him. And besides, there was a rumble tomorrow night and everyone knew there was no fighting allowed before it. Tim was a little sketchy on the details of the reason for the fight, but he knew that one of the Curtis boys from Winston's gang and the quiet dark haired kid that he hung around so much had killed one of the top Socs and gotten away with it. The rumble tomorrow was to settle that.

He knew he could probably crash at one of the guys in his gangs' houses, but he had an image to maintain and showing up begging on their doorstep certainly wouldn't help that. To be honest, he didn't even want to be on Shepard territory at all right now. There was Buck's place, but an obnoxiously loud party was sure to be happening tonight and that was the last thing he needed right now. So, where then?

He vaguely remembered Winston mentioning that the Curtis' house was always unlocked for anyone who wanted to retreat there. Tim usually wouldn't go there; he was barely even on speaking terms with the Curtis boys. He definitely wasn't familiar enough to just show up like he owned the place. But then, it was late; they were all probably asleep, anyway. And he had nowhere better to go.

Destination in mind, he picked up the pace of his walking and headed out of his territory. As he went, he wondered why Winston would tell him something like that. It wasn't like they were buddies; they fought too often for that. But they weren't exactly enemies, either. If they happened to be at the same party they often hung out and had a couple beers together. Dallas was really the only person who wasn't scared of him; he was the toughest one from his gang and he and Tim had a mutual distrust and general hatred for the world. Tim supposed Winston was as close to a friend as he was ever going to get.

But then, he was Tim Shepard. He didn't need things like that.

Soon he arrived at the Curtis' house and tried the back door. Sure enough, it was unlocked and he was able to slip quietly inside. The house was dark and nearly silent; everyone was asleep. Tim could hear the sounds of slow, even breathing that was coming from the bedrooms. He collapsed onto the worn couch and closed his eyes. Before long he was asleep.

He woke up to the sound of a muffled scream; it wasn't loud enough to wake up the slumbering boys but Tim's tense nerves had caught it. It had come from one of the bedrooms, so he went to investigate. He peeked around the doorframe and saw two of the Curtis boys lying in the bed. What were their names? Ponyboy, that was it. And Sodapop. The smaller one, Ponyboy, had his face buried in his pillow and Tim could hear muffled crying. He had obviously had a nightmare. Soda muttered in his sleep and subconsciously threw his arm over Ponyboy, who quieted and wiggled closer. Within moments his hitched breathing evened out and he was back asleep.

Tim went back to the couch and plopped back down with a yawn. As he was drifting off again his mind wandered to a place he tried to never let it, a place where he wondered what it was like to have someone who cared for him so much that it was second nature for them to comfort him. Just like Soda had for Ponyboy. But he once again squashed the traitorous thought and feeling of longing.

He was Tim Shepard. He didn't need things like that.

When he woke up the second time it was to bright sunlight. He sat up and stretched and then, after hearing the sounds of movement from one of the bedrooms, tried to look natural by grabbing a newspaper from the coffee table and opening it. Just then Ponyboy walked out from the hall and stopped short when he saw him.

"Hi, Tim," he said, slightly bewildered.

"Hi, kid," Tim greeted casually.

Ponyboy gestured unsurely toward the kitchen. "Can I get you some breakfast or something?"

"Nope," Tim said without hesitation, not looking up from the paper. He kept staring at the words for another moment before deciding to leave. Now that someone knew of his presence it was just awkward. He folded up the paper and got up. As he was leaving he said, "Thanks for the use of your couch."

"Sure," he heard Ponyboy say from behind him. "Anytime."

He walked out of the Curtis' yard, passing two other members of Winston's gang: Two-Bit and Steve, they were called. They gave him a strange look as he passed by before they entered the house. A moment later he heard shouts, whoops, and laughter coming from the house, the sound of friends welcoming one of their own home.

There would be no one to do that for Tim when he got back to his own territory. He doubted anyone would worry even if he suddenly vanished off the face of the earth. But then, what did it matter to him if nobody cared?

He was Tim Shepard. He didn't need things like that.


End file.
